Martin Scorsese directing Silence (2016) in Taiwan. Image © FM Films, LLC. Reproduced here for educational and scholarly purposes only.

This reflection was written by Jeroham Meléndez, who works in communications at Dio, for this week’s Wingèd Ox, a weekly news digest distributed to the college community. You will find reflections from previous weeks here.

Scripture tells of the many ways God communicates. In 1 Kings, the prophet Elijah does not encounter God in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but in a “still small voice.” The psalmist invites us: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalms 46:10). And in Lamentations we read, “It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”

Yet despite these invitations to stillness, many of us approach prayer expecting clarity, answers, and direction. We long to hear God’s voice, clearly, promptly, and often in ways that resolve our struggles. But sometimes the response we receive is not immediate clarity. Sometimes what we encounter instead is silence.

I was recently reminded of this reality when I finally watched Silence, a film that had been on my list for quite some time, directed by Martin Scorsese and based on the eponymous novel by Shusaku Endo. The film tells the story of missionary priests in seventeenth-century Japan who struggle with the apparent silence of God amid suffering and persecution. “No spoilers”. Then again, maybe it’s just silence reading along. At its heart, the story is not so much about whether God speaks, but about how we interpret God’s silence.

Lent offers a particularly fitting time to reflect on this mystery. We are invited into practices of fasting and prayer that are meant to be discreet, inward, and humble. In a season that calls us to examine our hearts and deepen our dependence on God, we may ask ourselves:

Is faithfulness always visible? Or can it also be silent?

Many people think of God primarily in terms of promises, the one who fixes our problems, resolves our difficulties, and provides clear direction for our lives. As Christians, we continually live within this tension between expectation and trust. We hope for answers, yet we are often invited to remain faithful even when answers do not come as we wish.

I do not know whether you may be waiting for a response from God, or listening for an answer to your prayers in the midst of uncertainty. What we do know is that this experience is part of the Christian journey. Those called to ministry will encounter it often, not only in their own lives, but in the lives of those who come seeking guidance, comfort, and reassurance, trying to hear God more clearly or hoping for quicker answers to their prayers.

I don’t pretend to resolve such a profound theological question in these lines; rather, I offer them as an invitation for this season of Lent. They simply invite us to dwell in the mystery, for sometimes faith is not found in the certainty of hearing, but in the perseverance of trusting… even in silence.